Once a Spy
by OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles
Summary: Ricki Tarr can't return to the Circus, but all he's good at is hunting secrets. He must change his identity and find work wherever he can in order to stay hidden and alive. But his new job sends him careening into Arthur, a man who could bring Ricki redemption, or undo everything he's fought to hold onto.


***AUG 18, 2012 NOTICE* FFnet took down 25 of my stories because they deemed the content 'inappropriate'. Because of this, any story I post with this notice at the beginning will be censored and incomplete. I will have edited it to make it suitable for FFnet and will still be a 'story', but in my opinion the quality will be decreased. I have either taken out scenes for sexual content or violence. If you would like to read the full story, which I strongly recommend, you can do so on AO3 here: archiveofourown(dot-org)/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles. **

**At least 50% of my stories cannot be reposted on FFnet because they will be removed again and I could get banned. I strongly encourage you to simply bookmark my AO3 page and read all my stories there. You can also follow me on Tumblr for story update news, here: onewhositswiththeturtles(dot-tumblr-dot-com)**

**Thank you.**

* * *

**Once a Spy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception, or Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, or any of the characters

Warnings: M/M pairing, **TTSS spoilers**, sexual situations, violence

Rating: M

Notes: This is a crossover between "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy" and "Inception". The only thing I ask you to overlook is the fact that TTSS is based in the 70s and Inception is based in more modern times. Although I will not be writing in any distinct time period, I will probably relate more to modern times. Also, I'm only working based on the movie right now; I now own TTSS but haven't read it yet. If there are any inaccuracies I apologize for them, and will correct anything pointed out to me or found by me as I read the book.

Summary: Ricki Tarr can't return to the Circus, but all he's good at is hunting secrets. He must change his identity and find work wherever he can in order to stay hidden and alive. But his new job sends him careening into Arthur, a man who could bring Ricki redemption, or undo everything he's fought to hold onto.

* * *

"The safety deposit box number is 274."

Eames held the telephone box's receiver close to his ear while his eyes scanned the sidewalk and street through the smudged glass.

"You will find the key in the post office on Wellington."

He devoted half his attention to keeping an eye on the passing cars and pedestrians, and the other half to committing every detail to memory as the man spoke to him over the shoddy telephone line.

"Go to the counter. There will be an envelope addressed to you waiting for pickup."

A woman paused on the sidewalk, stared directly at Eames and waved. Eames tensed, the man's voice momentarily faded from his full awareness. The woman began dashing towards Eames's occupied phone booth and Eames mentally checked the weight of the gun tucked safely away under his jacket. The woman ran past the phone booth and when Eames turned, he saw her flinging her arms happily around a man who swept her up in a big hug. A man she must have seen through the glass of the telephone box. Eames released a breath he had not realized he was holding.

"Ricki."

Eames tensed again, his attention returning to the man on the other end of the receiver. "Don't call me that!" he hissed angrily.

"Why ever not?" the man seemed amused even though he didn't laugh. "That is your name, after all. Is it not?"

"Not anymore," Eames reminded the man, voice tight. "Ricki Tarr is dead."

There was a moment's pause across the phone line. "Well if you desire to keep it that way..._ Eames_," the man stressed his new name, "You better get me results quickly."

There was a click and the phone went dead. Eames hung up the receiver with jerky movements and stayed where he was standing, breathing deeply. He watched the young man on the sidewalk take the young woman's hand and lead her away, both of them chatting happily. Eames closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and then shouldered his way out of the phone booth.

He had work to do.

#

Eames got the envelope. He got the letter. He got safety deposit box 274. Now he was sitting in his tiny apartment, trying to ignore the itchy fabric of the armchair he had rescued from the sidewalk. A thin folder sat in his lap, plain beige cover hiding the small collection of papers detailing information about Eames's new target. He left it sitting there and instead reached for his cup of tea on the side table, stalling.

Eames didn't want to do this. The problem was that he didn't have a choice. Hunting secrets was all he was good at, all he had ever been good at. But he couldn't work for the Circus anymore. His innocence had been proven to those who mattered, but Eames's credibility had been ruined forever since the moment they suspected he might have defected to the Russians. There was no coming back from that. So what else was there for Eames to do, other than to change his identity and try to find work anywhere he could?

Even if Eames wanted to pick up and move on, leave everything behind and start over, his employer wouldn't let him. Eames didn't know how the man had come across information regarding Eames's previous life, but the man clearly had no qualms about holding his old identity over his head. If Eames didn't do what he was told, someone would come after him; if not the Circus than some other section of the British secret service. And living in the shadows was better than living in a jail cell with people he had helped put away with the correct intelligence.

He didn't know when this would end, if it could end. But Eames wasn't ready to give up yet.

Flicking the folder open with a thumb, Eames began reading. Arthur Kings, or so said the file. American ex military, intelligence field, dishonourable discharge; that had Eames's eyebrow rising. This wouldn't be a simple pedestrian off the street; Arthur would be paranoid and alert at all times. There were no notes on what Arthur was currently doing for work, though that made sense since it was Eames's job to unearth those secrets. Who Arthur was working for and with, what he was working _on_...?

The rest of the envelope held more facts about Arthur: likes, dislikes, skills, surveillance photographs. Eames held the photographs up under the golden glow of his table lamp, studying them all one at a time. His target looked very clean and proper, which probably meant that Arthur would be very organized and aware of his surroundings. The pictures made Arthur look very slight in figure, but Eames could read the strength in the man's shoulders and arms beneath his suit's fabric. He was... quite beautiful, lit up by the dying bulb of Eames's lamp.

Eames studied the photographs a while longer and then returned them to the envelope. He memorized the address of Arthur's apartment in a small corner of Moscow, and then counted the bills filling up the rest of the envelope; it was enough to maintain his cover for a month, two if Eames dipped into his nearly non-existent savings. After that Eames dumped the folder and envelope on his coffee table and heaved himself out of the armchair. He held a cigarette between his lips and lit it before staring out the window at the alley a few stories below him.

He didn't want to go back to Moscow. He never thought he would have to. Moscow was where everything had gone wrong, where Ricki's life had been overturned and left in shambles. He was trying to let that go, or at least leave it behind. He was Eames now, not Ricki, and he didn't want to return to Moscow and have his past wash over his new identity. Memories of the Circus's message man, slashed and bleeding, and the Circus's infuriating messages would surely return quickly. And the memories of Irina...

Eames closed his eyes and stubbed his cigarette out on the stained windowsill before turning away to begin packing everything he would need.

He had no choice.

#

With it being late spring, the breeze was warm when Eames stepped out of the taxi outside the hotel he would be calling home for the next month. The hotel was not lavishly expensive, but it was certainly enough to pull off the cover of an important businessman being away on business for a month. Eames collected the key and made his way up to the room, making quick work of unpacking his clothes and hiding everything away in the room's safe. Once that was complete, Eames stepped out onto his new balcony with a lit cigarette to his lips, surveying the city and the apartments across the street as he had once done in the past.

It felt wrong to be back here, considering how long and how hard Eames had worked to avoid returning. Already the memories were starting to stir, images floating by Eames's gaze in the plumes of smoke from his cigarette. Eames had been standing just like this on his balcony, watching as Irina discovered that Boris, her husband, was cheating on her, and as the man beat her when she tried to stand up for herself. Eames remembered her stricken face after she discovered the betrayal, and the way her thin frame had been a shadowy silhouette each time Boris shoved her against the wall of windows.

Each time he closed his eyes, the images grew sharper, more vivid. It wasn't long before Eames was flicking away the stub of his cigarette and stepping back into his hotel room. The jet lag was wearing on him, so he slowly stripped and rolled into bed. It was still midmorning and Eames's first point of intersection with Arthur would be a cafe the man frequented some evenings, so Eames had time to catch up on some sleep. He would need sharp senses and a sharper mind if he was going to deal with an ex-military intelligence man, and failure was not an option.

If Eames failed, he had no doubt that his employer would reveal his identity to all the wrong people. And even though Eames realistically knew his employer wouldn't let him go even if he was successful – why would he give up such a convenient worker? – Eames had to wish, somewhere in his heart, for the chance at freedom. Hope was powerful, even if it was based on an illusion.

#

He had originally thought to dress up for this, to match Arthur's taste in attire. But then he wondered if doing so might spook Arthur, since even as a businessman Eames would never normally dress so formally. So instead Eames simply combed his hair properly and chose clothes that were ironed but not necessarily stylish. He slid on his watch, grabbed his wallet, and paused in front of the mirror. He checked himself over to make sure he was presentable and suitably dressed for his cover, and then begrudgingly met his reflection's eyes.

Eames reminded himself that this was not the time to be thinking about the Circus, or about Smiley, or about Peter. It wasn't the time to be thinking about the messenger man, murdered by the Russians when things had quickly gone wrong. It wasn't the time to be thinking about Boris or Irina, or even about his employer. Right now Eames needed to think as a well-to-do businessman, and he needed to focus on Arthur.

Eames gave a tiny nod to himself in agreement before he took a steadying breath and headed for the door.

#

The cafe was crowded when Eames arrived. Normally he'd feel uncomfortable with the number of strangers around him, his paranoia always kicking into high gear as he watched each person for a suspicious glance, or a revealing twitch. But he couldn't complain about it that night because it gave him the perfect excuse to approach his target. Arthur was sitting alone at a table for two by the window, and every other table was full.

Spurred on by the present opportunity, Eames stepped into the restaurant, the bell over the door jingling even though it could barely be heard over the general chatter in the room. Eames made a beeline for Arthur's table but adopted a hesitant pace, pulling a bashful smile onto his lips when Arthur noted his approach and raised his eyes from the menu to regard Eames curiously. "Terribly sorry to disturb you, mate," Eames smiled a little wider, "But I was wondering if you'd mind if I joined you. Everywhere else is full and I'm starved."

Eames's heart was racing as Arthur studied him for a moment, analyzed him. Eames couldn't help but think that Arthur was even more beautiful up close, even though the cafe's lighting washed out the man's colour. Not a strand of black hair out of place, clothes showing off a trim figure, and eyes that were dangerously intelligent and even more dangerously calming. A smile on very thin lips and a small nod allowed Eames's heart to relax in relief as he took the offered seat opposite his target. He shrugged off his light jacket and took the offered menu when a waiter passed by the table, focusing on his options. The last thing he wanted was to show excessive interest in the man sitting across the table from him, or else his request might seem a little too bizarre for Arthur to ignore.

They both considered the menu in silence. Eames should have felt odd, their table silent while the rest of the room talked loudly. But it didn't feel odd at all; it felt rather comfortable. It was only after they had ordered that they began to talk, Arthur immediately leaning back in his chair and pinning Eames in place with his eyes again. "Just flown in from England then?" Arthur questioned with a raised eyebrow, looking curious and slightly smug. "On business, I'd presume."

Eames's heart began to beat rapidly again but he swallowed down his initial panic. "What makes you think so?"

Arthur didn't move, barely batted an eyelash at Eames's deflection, though his lips curled into a slight smirk. "Well the accent is a dead giveaway, of course. You look exhausted and jet lagged, and you're willing to sit with a stranger in the first restaurant you found, meaning you probably can't be bothered to put in the effort of finding a place further from the hotel district," Arthur surmised simply. "That, and if you were on vacation you'd likely have someone with you, or at the very least you wouldn't be dressed up like that."

Eames could only sit back in his chair and blink. "Observant, aren't you?" Eames would have to play his best game if he was going to work this target.

Arthur's smirk grew. "Am I right?"

"Do I really look that exhausted?" Eames returned with his own question rather than openly admitting that Arthur was right. He was pretty sure Arthur was aware of this though, judging by the way his eyes were dancing playfully.

Arthur glanced over him again and gave a solemn nod. "But I hold faith that you could look half decent with a proper night's sleep. There's still hope," Arthur reassured Eames with a serious tone.

Eames chucked despite himself. "Hope is all I need," Eames admitted seriously. He knew Arthur caught his tone but decided that he didn't want this conversation to grow too serious too fast. "Care to split a bottle of wine with me?" Eames asked with a welcoming smile, fidgeting with the wine list on the table.

"Trying to get me drunk?" Arthur asked in return, not sounding terribly opposed to the possibility.

"Only if you want me to, darling," Eames gave a wink.

"I should hope that you'd at least ask my name first." Arthur's sharp eyes watched Eames's hand as it twirled the laminated wine list. "Since it is certainly not 'darling'."

"Alright," Eames nodded, stilling his hand to regain Arthur's full attention. "Would you be so kind as to bless me with the knowledge of your name?"

He was honestly expecting an alibi. Eames couldn't imagine it being easy for an American ex-military man to live in Russia without some sort of identity change, even though many of those tensions had faded by now. "Arthur," was the name Eames received though, and Eames was so surprised and oddly touched by Arthur's trust, that he said "Eames" in return when Arthur gave him an expectant look.

They ordered a bottle of wine and split it over their meal, talking about things of little consequence. Eames could feel the warmth of the alcohol and food in his stomach, but his mind stayed sharp and focused on Arthur's mannerisms and words, ensuring he didn't slip up. Arthur appeared to be feeling the alcohol a little more strongly, judging by the warm flush in his cheeks, but Eames was almost positive that Arthur was still playing it up. Arthur was playing him as much as Eames was playing Arthur, and yet they both seemed to genuinely enjoy themselves at the same time.

When the plates were cleared away and the bill came, Arthur snatched it up before Eames could even reach for his wallet. "Consider it my 'welcome to Moscow' treat," Arthur suggested as he counted out the right number of bills and left it on the table.

"Let me make it up to you," Eames requested hurriedly, desire for Arthur's company briefly surpassing Eames's realization that this could also be a great excuse to get closer to his target.

Arthur was already standing, one of his arms sliding into his jacket's sleeve. Arthur paused and considered Eames for a long moment, making Eames feel awkward as he hurried slid on his own jacket and stood from the table, accidentally hitting the table with his knee. "Alright, Eames," Arthur agreed calmly, no doubt taking note of Eames's nervous movement but thankfully not commenting. "You can treat me to a dinner at Holly's. I've always wanted to go but have never been willing to spend the money."

"Sounds wonderful," Eames said with a grin. Inwardly he mourned the money he would soon be parting with.

"We can meet here and then walk from there," Arthur offered, both of them standing outside the cafe they had just exited. "I wouldn't want you to get lost."

Eames ignored the underlying insult toward his abilities and instead leaned into Arthur's personal space with his most charming smile. "And miss another dinner with you? I wouldn't dream of it, darling." Arthur nodded and then stood silently, staring at Eames expectantly. Eames raised an eyebrow, feeling as though he had missed something. "Problem?"

"No problem," Arthur reassured lightly. "I just thought I'd walk you back to your hotel, since it's your first night in Moscow. You may not be very familiar with the city."

"I'm sure I'll manage," Eames said breezily. He mentally checked his posture, making sure his body didn't look as defensive as Eames felt.

"I pass by the hotels on my way home anyway," Arthur said and immediately started walking towards the hotel district without even an agreeing word from Eames. This was a blatant lie and Eames knew it; he had already checked the location of Arthur's apartment in relation to his hotel. Arthur lived in the opposite direction. But Eames fell into step beside Arthur anyway because he understood what this was: a test. Arthur wouldn't trust him until he saw that Eames really was staying in a hotel and appeared to be everything Eames proclaimed he was.

The walk to the hotel, however short, was an interesting one. To the untrained eye, Arthur would look like any other common pedestrian walking the sidewalk. It took a spy's eye to notice the slight tension in Arthur's shoulders and legs, and the way Arthur's eyes scanned the sidewalk and street methodologically. Not an inch left unchecked. It was Eames's nature to make the same checks, but he forced himself to refrain from doing so lest Arthur recognize the same habits in him. Oddly, Eames still felt somewhat safe knowing Arthur was making the checks, even if Eames would feel better doing the scans himself.

When Arthur insisted on following him into the hotel, Eames felt his patience wearing thin. Still, he graciously held the elevator door open for him and gave a playful flourish as he used his key card to open his room. He noted Arthur's tiny, self satisfied nod, and decided that indulging Arthur's paranoia had been worth it. "Do I get your phone number now?" Eames asked lightly, standing half in his doorframe to keep his door open.

"Don't insult me, Eames," Arthur spoke seriously, though Eames could see that the man's eyes were dancing again. "I'm a three date kind of man."

And with that, Arthur turned on his heel and headed down the hall toward the elevator. Eames remained standing in his doorframe, watching Arthur, his target. When Arthur glanced back at Eames while waiting for the elevator to arrive, Eames felt a little jolt in his chest. And, feeling foolish and giddy on wine and a successful first night, Eames blew Arthur a kiss down the hall. The blush on Arthur's face as he looked away and stepped into the newly-arrived elevator made it worth it.

#

Scanning Holly's menu made Eames want to cry. But he buried that and told Arthur to order whatever his heart desired. He was grateful to Arthur for not ordering the most expensive thing on the menu just because he knew he wasn't paying, but the bill still hurt. Eames reminded himself that it was worth it though; Arthur masterfully avoided the topic of work all evening, but Eames learned a lot of other interesting facts about the man. That and it was clear that after proving he was truly staying at a hotel, Eames had won a little more trust in Arthur's books.

It also seemed clear that Eames's charming smile and playfully blown kiss had taken their effect. Eames wouldn't fool himself into believing that Arthur was an easy man to win over, but Eames could see the start of something. Arthur smiled a little more over their second dinner together, and even though Arthur's eyes never stopped reading Eames, those brown irises were a little softer.

Eames could remember those same first genuine smiles, the softening of untrusting eyes. He had won Irina's trust as he won her affections. True, Arthur could simply be playing Eames, but Eames could turn false affections into real ones. He had done it before. He knew how. Maybe that made him a terrible person, playing someone's heart, but he knew from experience that one's heart was stronger than one's brain. Love won over logic every time. It was how Eames had ended up in this mess.

Last time things had ended in heartbreak. Eames had won Irina over, gotten her to trust him when so many others had betrayed her. He had gotten her to trust him to the point where she trusted him with her biggest secret, the secret of a double agent in the Circus. Irina's life had hinged upon Eames's promise to keep that secret safe, to only pass it on to those who could be trusted. Eames hadn't known that those he trusted would actually be the ones to turn on him. But they had. They had the messenger man sliced up in Ricki's style to frame him, and turned the group against him.

And then they had taken Irina. And killed her, as Smiley had finally informed Ricki when he realized that Ricki didn't have any hope of letting go if he thought she was still out there somewhere, alive and waiting to be saved. It felt like years ago, lifetimes ago. Eames still thought back and wondered how things might have been different if he had made different choices, or gotten to the hotel sooner. Eames wanted redemption, to save her from the hell he had gotten her in. But she was dead, and that meant that Eames couldn't save her. There would be no redemption. He wouldn't let himself grow attached – _care_ – again.

"Eames?" A hand hesitantly brushing his own caused Eames to jump, accidentally knocking over his wine glass. Red wine spilled across the white table cloth and stained the material. Echoes of the blood he had witnessed the day everything had gone wrong. "Eames? Are you alright?"

Eames pulled his hand away from Arthur's and rubbed his face, feeling dizzy at being jolted back into reality so abruptly. "I—Yeah," Eames nodded. "Yeah I'm alright. I just got lost in thought for a moment." Arthur looked like he didn't believe Eames, whether that was about being lost in thought or about being okay. But a waiter rushed over to the table to attempt to contain the blood – the wine – so Arthur remained silent. It wasn't the place for such a conversation, such a confrontation. Eames met and held Arthur's eyes across the table for a moment amongst the chaos and gave a solid nod. "I promise."

Dinner was, understandably, ruined. After Eames had paid and they left the restaurant, Arthur informed Eames that he would be taking a different route home and began walking away without a backwards glance. Eames jogged forward a couple steps and caught the crook of Arthur's arm hesitantly. He knew it was a dangerous move to pull on a military or intelligence man, and he could feel Arthur tense, but it was worth it because Arthur stopped walking. "I'm sorry tonight was such a disaster. Give me another chance."

When Eames carefully circled around Arthur to face him, his hand circling around Arthur's elbow, he noticed Arthur's eyes before anything else. Those brown eyes were the only thing that could give Arthur away, if Arthur was willing to let them. And Eames could see that Arthur wasn't angry. Eames didn't even think he had lost any of the trust he had slowly been able to wheedle from the other man. Arthur simply looked distracted, and Eames understood that look of such deep thinking that you weren't entirely aware of your surroundings. It was the look Eames always had when he was trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle.

Arthur's voice was hushed when he whispered his agreement to Eames's request. Eames felt like Arthur was telling him a secret, even though he wasn't. And then Arthur stepped out of Eames's grasp and began down the street again. "Will you give me your number?" Eames called out after Arthur's retreating form, desperate for the number even though he couldn't truthfully state his motivations in that moment.

"Not tonight," were Arthur's returning words. Before Eames could ask the next logical question, Arthur continued. "I'll pick you up outside your hotel lobby tomorrow at 2pm."

Eames knew that pursuing and pushing Arthur now would only make things worse, so Eames was forced to stuff his hands in his jacket pocket to hide his fists, clenched with frustration. He turned his back on Arthur and stormed back to his hotel for a comforting whiskey and cigarette. He told himself again and again that tomorrow was another day.

#

Arthur was precisely on time. And he took Eames's breath away. Because as Eames stepped out of the hotel lobby and raised his hand to shield his eyes from the bright mid afternoon sun, he could see his target leaning against one of the hotel's front pillars. Rather than black, Arthur was dressed in a dark brown suit with a rich blue waistcoat. He almost looked like a shadow haloed in light with the bright sun in Eames's eyes, but Eames could still make out those brilliant eyes when Arthur glanced lazily at Eames.

The tiny quirk of lips that was a no-doubt welcoming smile had Eames's heart picking up.

Eames wasn't exactly confused by his reaction to Arthur all lit up in the golden sun; Eames had found men attractive before, although never as attractive as the women he had appreciated in his lifetime. No, Eames wasn't confused... He was... awestruck. Never before had he found a man quite as beautiful as he found Arthur in the afternoon sun... Beautiful enough to eclipse even Irina...

"I know I don't have anything on my face, so would you quit staring?" Arthur huffed, rolling his eyes before slipping on a pair of sunglasses. Eames immediately mourned the loss of Arthur's expressive eyes.

"Snippy, aren't you?" Eames shot back as he pulled on his own sunglasses. The halo around Arthur dimmed with the darkened lenses, but still seemed to shimmer. Arthur didn't say anything as Eames stepped forward to stand alongside him, overlooking the courtyard from the hotel's raised balcony. "So, what's the plan today, darling? I had meetings all this morning so I'm ready to get out," Eames lied through his grin as he stretched and trotted down the small flight of stairs. When his feet touched cobblestone, Eames spun and gave Arthur a come-hither smirk.

Arthur followed at a more leisurely pace. "Are you always this impatient?" Arthur questioned as he approached and passed, continuing to walk.

"Rarely," Eames admitted as he matched Arthur's pace. He noticed Arthur glance at him out of the corner of his eye, no doubt trying to deduce what Eames's confession meant. Eames chose to simply smile and leave Arthur to his own assumptions.

He followed Arthur's lead to a sleek black car parked in a pick-up drop-off area for the hotels. Whether it was Arthur's car or a rental, Eames didn't know. But he slipped into the passenger's seat without hesitation as Arthur unlocked the vehicle and took the driver's seat. The sun-soaked leather of the seats seared heat into Eames's body and he fidgeted for a moment before settling, taking the combined pleasure and pain of it until his body adjusted. Arthur was busy turning on the car and rolling the roof back to turn the car into a convertible.

As their eyes met for a moment, the engine rumbling and the wind tugging at their hair, Eames grinned and relaxed back against his seat. He trusted Arthur enough to be taken wherever the man had planned. Arthur seemed to realize this, and they drove off without a word between them.

They did some sightseeing before ending up seated under a massive tree in a park, purchased and wrapped food spread between them as they ate. The sun was bright overhead in the sky, and little patterns of sunlight danced across the grass between the swaying tree branches. Eames paid little attention to it until a flash of sunlight once hit Arthur's eye, while leaving the rest of his face shadowed. It was like light hitting a prism. Suddenly Arthur's eye was not simply brown. It was hazel, and chestnut, and chocolate, and gold, and maybe even a little green... It was only when that eye narrowed in confusion that Eames realized he had been leaning in dangerously close.

Eames laughed it off and drew their attention back to the remaining food, but after that he couldn't help but watch the sunlight dance over Arthur's form. It didn't matter how trivial it seemed. A circle of sunlight lit up Arthur's wrist as the man precisely cut up some strawberries with a plastic knife. Another flash of light highlighting a sharp cheekbone. Yet another beam of light emphasizing the hollow of Arthur's neck, tempting Eames to map the sun's progression across that pale skin. It was entirely distracting and Eames was just thankful that Arthur was keeping up the conversation and politely ignoring Eames's wandering attention.

They spoke of many things, most topics one would consider trivial, but a few not. Eames was used to the give and take of secret gathering. You had to give enough about yourself to make your target feel comfortable giving you information in return. Normally Eames would have a stock set of half-truths to win over his target and not deviate from that; certainly not give full truths to someone he couldn't trust, someone he would soon betray. The trouble was that he found himself willingly sharing more with Arthur, sharing small fragments of Eames and Ricki. The danger wasn't even that Arthur might do something with this information. The danger was that each truth he confided in Arthur made Eames feel safer around the other man, more comfortable and more accepted each time Arthur laughed, nodded, fell silent to listen, or furled his brows in sympathy.

It was too comfortable between them, and yet Eames didn't seem capable of stopping. He told himself that it was all for the job, to get the desired information for his employer, to win his freedom. And that was, to an extent, what he was doing. Arthur had shared quite a bit with Eames. Maybe not the key information Eames was after, but enough to prove that continuing this new relationship would surely get Eames what his employer needed. But Eames knew himself well enough to know that it was more than that. He liked Arthur, and he liked feeling this connection with another individual that you could only achieve through honesty.

Honesty got spies killed.

This was the first time Eames wasn't as scared of that fact as he should be.

"Tell me a secret."

Eames glanced up at Arthur, his head resting on Arthur's thigh while the rest of his body was sprawled across the grass. Arthur was watching the distance, like his mind was elsewhere. "Sorry?"

Arthur turned his gaze down. "Tell me a secret that you've never told anyone else."

Eames pursed his lips. It was a dangerous question, and yet it wasn't. Arthur was asking for something very intimate, and yet he wasn't forcing Eames to give away a secret that compromised his cover or his job. Eames remained silent for a moment, thinking, realizing that he truly wanted to tell Arthur a secret he hadn't shared with anyone else. Arthur was watching him but didn't seem impatient, simply letting Eames think. "I love the water," Eames finally said.

"Oh?" Arthur spoke softly in reply. It was almost a grunt more than a vocalization. Just proving he was listening without revealing how keen he was to hear more.

"Something about the sound of it always calms me," Eames continued. "Doesn't matter what form it's in. The sound of waves, or of rain, or even that annoying _drip drip_ when your faucet is broken. All of it. Just listening..." Eames could feel his body relaxing as he lay there, imagining the sounds. "Most people hate rainy days, but I love them. They help me slow my thoughts, figure out puzzles that are normally too complex." Eames shivered in surprised pleasure when he felt fingers slipping into his hair, carding through it - almost absentmindedly. He took this as a hint to continue. "And the weightlessness of it. Have you ever just floated in water, or even let out just enough breath to hover beneath the waves but not to sink to the bottom?"

He glanced up at Arthur curiously. Arthur was still watching him. "No, I haven't."

"You should." Eames smiled. "It feels like there's nothing else. Just the water, and calm silence. It's like the world stops turning, like time has frozen around you..." Eames trailed off and gave a pleased hum, memories of his childhood behind his eyes as he leaned into Arthur's touch. Silence fell around them for a time, the park relatively empty on a weekday with people working and in school. When Eames opened his eyes, at first he could only see his memory; floating below the surface of the community pool, staring up at the sky and the sun through the water. He had to blink a few times before Arthur came into focus above him, his memories fading. "Tell me a secret, Arthur."

"I'm happiest when I'm dreaming," Arthur confessed almost immediately, as though he had been waiting for Eames to ask.

Eames waited for a continuation, but Arthur remained silent. Brown eyes were glassy, consciousness gone somewhere else. To a thought, to a memory, to a fantasy? Eames reached over his head to grasp Arthur's hand in his own and pull it towards him. He kissed the soft, creased skin of Arthur's palm, and Arthur returned to him. "Why, darling?"

Arthur watched his captured hand before pulling it out of Eames's grasp, only to rest it on Eames's chest lightly. "Because I like to be in control. And..." Eames blinked up at Arthur, waiting patiently. "I suppose there is a similar timelessness and freedom in dreams. You can create or do anything you want, and you have no concept of time. You're detached... And yet you are connected to everything."

"You're talking about lucid dreaming?" Eames phrased his words as a question, even though he was pretty sure he was right.

The way Arthur's gaze flickered down sharply made Eames feel like a spotlight was on him. Though he didn't know if he had said something right, or something wrong. "Do you like to dream, Eames?"

A scene flashed before Eames's eyes at the question. A fictional scene, and also not. Smiley had told Ricki how Irina had died, how she had been forced to stand in a room in front of Jim – one of the men from the Circus they were trying to drag information from – until she was shot down. Shot without a hesitation, without a thought. Eames hadn't been there, but that didn't mean his mind didn't create the scene for him each time he fell asleep. Her pale face, her bright eyes, the crack of the gun, the blood on the walls... "No. No, I don't like to dream. My dreams always seem to wait for me with my worst memories."

"You mentioned lucid dreaming though," Arthur commented evenly. "Have you thought of using those techniques to face your fears and memories within a dream?"

Eames sighed. "I tried. Trust me."

"But maybe-?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, Arthur," Eames said strongly, his eyes closed as he continued to fight away the memories threatening to take over. It was only when silence fell around them that Eames realized Arthur had been drawing comforting circles with a thumb where his hand had come to rest on Eames's chest. Eames was thankful that Arthur didn't stop despite Eames's sharp tone and the resulting silence. For a moment Eames felt like he should say sorry. Then he realized, with Arthur's thumb still skimming warm circles over the fabric of his shirt, that he didn't need to.

Eyes still closed, he smiled.

#

They couldn't meet and spend time together every day. Eames had to pretend to actually have meetings to attend and clients to meet. The most Eames had gotten Arthur to admit about his work so far was that Arthur was 'between jobs'. But the man still seemed to have things to do on certain days, which Eames couldn't fault him for.

Still, they spent quite a bit of time together during the weeks Eames was in Moscow. They talked and watched, explored and ate. One evening, long after Eames had finally won Arthur's phone number, they had talked on the phone for hours. They had had plans to go check out a dinner theatre restaurant but the show had been cancelled for the night. A terrible lightning storm had struck the city and the actors, who had been traveling in from out of town, had been unable to make it.

Arthur had called with the news since he had booked the tickets, and what should have been a brief two minute phone call had turned into a two hour argument about what the best play was, and who the best classical composer was. They never seemed to run out of topics they could discuss, whether they were in agreement or, more likely, strict disagreement. When the conversation had finally died down it was just the sound of Arthur's breathing through the phone Eames could hear. And then Arthur whispered in his ear, "You have your window open to listen to the rain."

Eames had glanced over at his balcony door, which was propped open slightly to let in the sound of the torrential downpour outside. "I do."

There was a smile in Arthur's voice. "I do too." The sound of breathing and rain swirled around them. "Good night, Eames."

Eames was smiling too. "Good night, Arthur."

#

Each day they spent together felt like a repeat. Not necessarily in a bad way, like repeating an action or habit that had long since grown boring. Instead it was more like a constant sense of déjà vu as Eames and Arthur moved about the city of Moscow together. Eames would see a restaurant that Irina had adored, or a jewellery story that had caught her eye. He even recognized a store from which Irina had once bought a hat with a ridiculously large feather in the brim, just because neither of them had been able to stop laughing when she first tried it on in jest.

Eames had been expecting this. It was why he had never wanted to return to Moscow. Because the happy memories led to the sad memories. Betrayed eyes, screams of terror, blood on the wall. What Eames _hadn't_ been expecting was the way the memories began to fade. With time, as he traversed the city with Arthur by his side, Irina began to dim. Both from Eames's current thoughts and his buried memories. It was no longer 'Irina and I went there', or 'Irina loved that.' It was now 'Arthur and I met there' and 'Arthur told me a secret here'.

Eames felt terrible about it at first. After all, he had betrayed Irina, however unintentionally, and it had gotten her kidnapped and killed in cold blood. Who was Eames to shrug that off and move on? He didn't deserve happiness after what he had done. He had let Irina down, and he would let Arthur down. However, another part of Eames felt relieved, like he was breathing in oxygen after being submerged for a long time.

Right or wrong, when Eames closed his eyes each night, curled up in a pile of blankets alone, he thought of Arthur until he drifted off. And instead of blond hair and blood and running and screams, Eames began to dream of oceans, salty wind in his hair, and dark brown eyes.

#

Eames was walking Arthur home. This was a big deal because for the past three weeks, every time Eames had offered, Arthur had politely declined. He reminded Eames that he was not new to the city and would be perfectly safe making his own way home without an escort. And there was nothing Eames could say or do to sway the man. Pressing the point would cause conflict, so all Eames could do was shrug and wish Arthur a pleasant evening.

Eames wasn't sure why, but tonight was different. They had gone back to the cafe where they had first met for dinner and had enjoyed a quiet evening. For the first time that evening, when Eames told a joke Arthur laughed. Not a smile, not a chuckle; Arthur _laughed_. The sound was exquisite. Eames could feel himself growing warm and his smile widening just by seeing the laugh lines on Arthur's face and hearing that rich laugh.

He had thought that would be his surprise for the evening. So when Eames took Arthur's hand in a flourish and kissed the top of his hand, asking him politely if he could walk Arthur home, he wasn't expecting Arthur to agree. But Arthur's hand had risen to skim under Eames's chin, leading his gaze upward. And he had smiled and said "You may." Even the playful, flirty tone was a surprise since Arthur was usually the calm, serious one who took Eames's flirting in stride but never returned fully in kind.

Arthur led the way to his apartment, Eames pointedly feigning a lack of knowledge about the whereabouts. It was silly for Eames to walk Arthur home; he could see why as they navigated the sidewalks. Everything was brightly lit and the only people they passed on the street seemed too concerned with their own lives to pay them any mind. Neither of them commented on the pointlessness of the act though, and Eames's heart thrummed each time his shoulder brushed against Arthur's, both of them walking too close to one another.

He knew they had arrived at the building Arthur lived in – third floor – from across the street, but he made no show of recognizing a place he shouldn't know. Instead he followed Arthur's lead across the street until they were standing in the shadowed archway of the building, alone together. The carved stone designs of the walls were softened from weather and the doorknob behind Arthur looked a little tarnished, but otherwise it seemed like a nice, quiet neighbourhood. Definitely no danger posed to Arthur, even if he wasn't ex-military.

"Thanks for walking me home," Arthur's voice was quiet, but not entirely even. This caught Eames's attention, drawing his gaze from the surroundings to Arthur. Brown eyes were bright, lit up artificially by the nearby streetlamp, but the rest of Arthur was half hidden in shadows. Arthur was leaning against the archway, keys jingling in one fidgeting hand. "Would you... like to come up?"

Arthur, as a rule, was not generally shy. But the smile on Arthur's lips was definitely shy, and a little nervous. Even though Eames had never been with a man before, he could imagine climbing the two small steps and meeting those lips. Pressing Arthur back against the door, pressing him against the painted wood with strong hands on his shoulders, then gathering Arthur close and holding their bodies against each other. Still kissing; kissing until they were both out of breath. Then he'd snatch Arthur's keys and get the door open, moving Arthur upstairs as quickly as he could. Clothing would be shed quickly and Eames would taste that pale skin, the skin that shone in the sun. He would bite a mark on Arthur's smooth neck to let others know that Arthur belonged to someone, belonged to Eames. Then he would move Arthur to the bed and taste him, take him, claim him...

Afterwards they would kiss again, slower, sweeter. Their bodies would tremble, causing them to press closer together. They wouldn't be cold, but still they would be drawn to the other's warmth. And then... And then Arthur's lips would part and brush by Eames's ear. And he'd tell Eames his secret, the one Eames needed, the one his employer and cronies needed. And then they would come and they would take Arthur away. There would be screaming and Eames would run as fast as he could, try to save him, save him like he couldn't save Irina.

There would be blood.

There would be pain.

There would be death.

Eames blinked.

Arthur was standing in front of him. It had all been in a flash, a mere second, a breath. Arthur was only now realizing that this second of silence was going to lead to a rejection. Arthur's brow was creased, the lines accented by the streetlamp's glow. Eames didn't know if Arthur was frowning in confusion or hurt, but Eames couldn't even focus enough to figure it out. He felt like the world around him had turned to glass. Reflecting what he wanted to see, the fantasy he had created for him and Arthur to share.

The fantasy was shattering. Like a struck mirror, the world around Eames split into jagged pieces and began to fall, breaking into even smaller, unfixable pieces as they hit the concrete in silence. Nothing but silence; silence and their breathing. A few of the pieces cut Eames as they fell, sharp edges catching Eames's skin. Even though no mark would appear, Eames felt the sting. How had he fooled himself into believing things would be different? How could he be with Arthur when he knew – he _knew_ – how it would end?

Without a word, Eames turned away from Arthur. He didn't even wait until he was out of sight before he began to run. Running until his lungs burned, until his legs ached, until there was nothing more to do but to keep running.

#

The next day, Arthur called. Eames watched the screen displaying the name and number until the phone stopped vibrating. Then he set the phone down on the concrete floor of the balcony. He ignored the cold ache that was seeping into his legs and back from sitting on the balcony floor. And he spent the rest of the day trying to stop his heart from hurting.

#

The day after that, Arthur called again. Eames ignored it and continued trying to talk himself into completing the job.

#

On the third day Eames did not receive a phone call. He did, however, receive a text.

_I'll be at our cafe tonight._

The word "our" was what did Eames in.

#

They grew close again, but Arthur never asked Eames home again. Not that Eames could blame him.

Eames's employer began to call Eames, seeking progress. It was clear that he was growing impatient. It had been a month and the money given to Eames for the job was nearly out. He wouldn't be able to stay in Moscow with Arthur much longer. Eames would either have to get the information he needed from Arthur and turn it in to his employer, or he would have to run with what little money he had left and hide. His employer might hunt Eames down, might even send someone else after Arthur; Eames didn't know.

All Eames knew was that he was running out of time and would soon have to make a decision.

#

When Eames slid into the passenger seat of Arthur's car – he still wasn't sure if it was owned or rented – Arthur didn't drive away. The roof was already down, the sun heating the wind that day. Eames glanced over at Arthur, a silent question in his eyes. Arthur was staring straight ahead through the windshield, his hands white-knuckled as they clutched the steering wheel. "You're leaving soon, aren't you?" When Eames didn't answer, Arthur's eyes sought him out. "Eames?"

Eames swallowed. He didn't know how Arthur had guessed. He wished Arthur hadn't. It would have been easier to just check out late one night, disappear before his employer realized, before he was forced to say goodbye and see those brown eyes fade with hurt again. Eames still hadn't decided what he was going to do about his employer; Eames was tired of running, tired of hiding. He had been strongly considering just packing up and leaving until his employer had called the night before. The words spoken across the receiver had chilled Eames to the bone. "_If you don't get me results soon, I'll send someone else_."

The thought of someone else pursuing Arthur, hunting Arthur, had Eames fighting to drag oxygen into his lungs. Fear. Anger. Desperation. Anyone else his employer sent would no doubt be more violent in their pursuits, not that any cheerful end seemed to be awaiting Arthur.

And yet Arthur sat beside Eames, watching him, looking so knowing, and yet not knowing enough to turn and run while he still had a chance. Before Eames... Before he... Eames swallowed thickly and pushed those thoughts away. "Yeah, sadly. I'm actually done with my work. I'm using my own money to stay for an extra week..." _with you_, he silently added.

Arthur licked his lips in thought. Eames tracked the movement. "There's somewhere I want to take you then. It's a bit of a long drive though," Arthur warned.

Eames buckled up his seatbelt, showing his agreement. "The company will make it worthwhile," Eames said with an affectionate smile.

To Eames's surprise, Arthur took Eames to the Moscow Canal. Or the _Port of Five Seas_ as some called it, since it had access to the White Sea, the Baltic Sea, the Caspian Sea, the Sea of Azov, and the Black Sea. They had stopped for food on the way, and now they were seated on a pier looking west into the afternoon sun. The wood beneath him was slightly soggy but still sturdy, and Eames could hear waves crashing against the pillars below them. He knew they would probably get some sea salt on the fabric of their pants, but neither of them seemed to care.

Eames had his eyes closed, bright oranges and reds playing behind his closed eyelids from the sunlight. The waves were below him and the wind danced around him. Arthur's thigh was against his, warmer than the sun could ever be, and two of Eames's fingers were curled around Arthur's thumb where their hands rested together on the pier, keeping them in a seated position as they leaned back. They didn't talk because there was nothing that needed saying. But when Eames opened one eye and snuck a glance at Arthur, he saw Arthur smiling happily with his own eyes closed, dark lashes brushing sharp cheekbones. Eames closed his eyes again and smiled too, humming contently.

For a long time they stayed like that, unmoving but together. And then a thought struck Eames, though he wasn't sure what specifically made him think of it. He sat up fully, his hand sliding away from Arthur's hand and into Eames's pants pocket. A plain gold circular compact mirror sat in the palm of his hand when he pulled his hand back out, the surface lovingly polished and shiny. Eames eyed it, twisted it around between his fingers to look at it from every angle like it was his first time viewing the object. Not like he kept it in his pocket and took it with him everywhere; it was his last link to Irina.

By this time Arthur had sat up fully as well, watching Eames curiously. Past met present, old memories fighting the creation of new memories, when Eames moved the compact and a circle of golden light slid across Arthur's eye. Arthur flinched minutely and closed his eyes against the bright reflection. Eames tilted his hand just slightly and the circle of light traced Arthur's unmarked neck, touching Arthur the way Eames was too scared to.

The moment was so similar to the time long ago when he had sat in a restaurant by the water with Irina, lighting up her features and following the lines of her body with the compact's reflection. And yet it was also incredibly different. Irina had reflected the light, her blond hair and light eyes catching the sunlight and reflecting it back, drawing your attention inward. Whereas Arthur, with his dark eyes and darker hair, seemed to soak in the sun and glow. Eames still felt drawn to the man, leaning closer as he watched the reflected circle continue to dance over skin, but it wasn't because the light was drawing his attention; it was because he felt sure that he would be able to feel the heat and the light of the sun humming just beneath Arthur's skin.

Moth to flame.

Eames tilted the compact and the circle of light framed Arthur's lips, curled with the tiniest smile. Entranced, Eames leaned closer. The desire to follow the path of the light with a finger, to cup that cheek, overtook Eames and he raised a hand. But just then Arthur's eyes flickered open and focused on Eames. Eames froze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights even though it was Arthur's eyes that were lit up by the sun's light. He didn't know how Arthur would react to Eames's close proximity, what it meant when Arthur's eyes looked down to Eames's mouth before rising again to hold Eames's gaze. And then...

Anger.

No... _Fury_.

"How can you look at me like that?" Arthur hissed, leaning away from Eames. Eames leaned away too, as though he had just been slapped. What had he done wrong? How could he fix this? "How can you look at me with... Like _that_?" Arthur's voice was rising in volume, fighting the crashing waves below. "After you rejected me. After you _ran away_ from me like a hell hound was on your heels. You dare—!" Arthur's voice cut out for a minute. The anger was fading into something much more potent. Hurt. "I didn't push the sex thing because I figured you were just scared or something. But _you_ led _me_ on, Eames," Arthur reminded him with a deadly whisper. "You reject me and yet you stare at me like..."

Eames dropped his gaze to the compact sitting sadly in his palm. He felt ashamed. He had made his decision too late. He had taken on the job and decided too far into what he had started that he didn't want to hurt Arthur. But he had hurt Arthur anyway. "It's for the best," he told the compact wearily, only half believing his own words. His eyes blurred with tears but he didn't let them fall.

"You should have decided that sooner," Arthur said coolly.

"I know," Eames whispered. He wanted to apologize, to explain everything to Arthur. But it wouldn't solve anything now. If anything, it would make things worse. When he felt the wood planks sink briefly as Arthur pulled himself to his feet, Eames bowed his head. When he heard the creaking of more planks as Arthur walked down the pier, Eames closed his eyes again. When he heard the car engine start up, Eames finally let the tears fall, tickling his nose as they trailed down and finally parted from his chin and joined the water below. And when Eames was left with only the sound of the waves below him, Eames opened his eyes and flung the gold compact.

It arched and twirled in the sky, catching the sun's golden rays again and again until the dark waves swallowed it up. Eames took a shaky breath, and then another, and then sobbed loudly. He noted offhandedly that he wasn't even crying for the loss of the compact, of Irina. He missed her, and he still held the weight of her death. But he was mourning Arthur, a man he shouldn't have fallen in love with, but had anyway. A man who knew more about him than anyone else, and who had accepted him as he was. A man who absorbed the sun but still shared the warmth. A man Eames had hurt to save.

Eames's broken, mournful sobs echoed across the water and were eventually swallowed up by the sound of the surf.

#

It was evening when Eames made it back to his hotel, the sun long since set. He had remained at the pier for about an hour, the sun scorching him as he cried; the sun's heat hurt now, rather than comforted. Once his body was stiff from the sea breeze and his eyes had run dry, Eames had stumbled to his feet and slowly trudged along the road to the town visible further down the canal bank. From there he found a diner with a payphone and called himself a cab for the long, painful, silent drive home.

His eyes still stung, reminding Eames constantly that he had been crying all afternoon. Eames did his best to ignore this, and ignore the memories of why he had been crying. Instead he focused his attention on packing his belongings into his suitcase. His movements were mechanical, his thoughts scattered, but he made slow progress. There was no reason left for him to stay here. He had ruined his chance with Arthur, and his employer would soon grow too impatient and send someone to 'check up' on Eames.

It was as Eames thought this that there was a loud, sharp knocking on his hotel room door. Eames froze, his shoulders hunched, and he raced across the room on tip toes to slide his gun from the room safe. His heart was thudding in his ribcage as he confirmed the gun was loaded and cocked it before edging towards the door. There was another loud pounding on the wood of the door, the person in the hallway sounding determined. Eames's body was thrumming with adrenaline but he liked it. He should have been scared, and he was, but it was a good thing. Eames knew how to react in these situations and it made his heartbreak fade into the background – currently irrelevant.

He took a deep, steadying breath, and then glanced through the peep-hole.

He nearly dropped his gun.

Why was Arthur here?

Eames took two hurried steps away from the door and flinched when he rested his weight on a squeaky floorboard. He froze and the following silence was deafening, but he could somehow tell that it was too late. Arthur had heard, and he was standing there on the other side of Eames's door, not doing anything. Uncertainty filled Eames and his gun felt incredibly heavy in his hand. He wanted to open the door and pull Arthur in before the other man left, explain everything and do his best to apologize. But another part of him insisted he stand here silently until Arthur left. Just let him leave, disappear from Eames's life. Telling Arthur why Eames was sent here would win him no favours, and keeping the man close would only put him in more danger with Eames's employer descending rapidly...

The next knock was more hesitant than the first two. "Eames?" Eames clenched his eyes closed, trying to block Arthur's voice from his mind. It swirled around him, calming him with every pleasant memory it brought up, even though the thought of Arthur also made Eames want to cry. Arthur's voice didn't sound specifically angry though... Eames hated the way his heart skipped with hope. "Please just-!" There was a frustrated sigh from the hallway. "Can we talk?"

Eames told himself no. Told himself to walk away, to put the gun away before he did something stupid. Keep packing, spend some time in the crisp evening air on his balcony, check out tomorrow, disappear to who knew where. Forget Arthur. Forget that skin, those lips, those eyes.

He slipped his gun into the back of his waistband and began undoing the locks on the door, because Eames was weak and he wasn't ready to give up quite yet. When the door fell open, the first thing Eames thought was that Arthur looked stunning. Arthur hadn't changed his attire at all after leaving the pier so everything was still slightly rumpled from the breeze – a rare occurrence to see Arthur anything less than pristine. His hair was windswept and his eyes were bright with pain; Eames thought Arthur might have cried earlier, though his eyes were no longer red. Eames knew he shouldn't think pain was beautiful, but seeing Arthur look so natural... _real_... Not a target, not a seemingly-perfect man... It was breathtaking.

Arthur stepped into the room and closed and locked the door behind him before turning to hold Eames's gaze. Their eyes skimmed over the other like they had been apart for years, rather than hours. Eames wanted to explain everything in a rush and try to apologize. He wanted to run his fingers over every inch of Arthur to memorize him. He wanted to shove Arthur back out into the hallway and tell him to leave while he still could, while he could still run from Eames's employer. But most of all, Eames wanted to pin Arthur against said door and kiss him senseless.

As it was, Eames wavered on his feet, wide eyed, and said nothing.

Arthur had come back, which meant a part of him was still willing to listen and give Eames a second chance. It wasn't over. But Eames was filled with so many fears he found himself incapable of action. What if telling Arthur the truth drove him away? What if them staying together and pursuing this led Eames's employer to Arthur? What if this was Irina all over again? And was Eames ready to be physical with a man? Recognizing that a man was attractive was one thing, but...

Eames allowed his eyes to skim over Arthur's form slowly, imagining everything he would find below the suit fabric. When he finished his inspection and raised his eyes again, he caught Arthur's dark, heated gaze. Eames swallowed thickly. Judging by the way his body was tingling at just the thought of Arthur's body, Eames was pretty sure he was ready. But first... "Arthur, I..."

"Explain it to me," Arthur demanded simply, cutting Eames off. Eames blinked in confusion. "Explain to me why it's for the best that you lead me on but reject me, that we don't pursue this from beyond this moment."

Eames swallowed in surprise. For some reason he wasn't expecting Arthur to be quite this forward about all of this. Of course, Eames also hadn't been expecting a second chance, and yet here he was. He had to make sure he didn't waste it. But his tongue felt swollen, his words stuck in the back of his throat. "I lied to you," was all he managed to choke out. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable: a punch, more questions, a door slam.

Arthur sighed. He sounded tired. "Eames, I know you were hired to follow me and collect information on my work." Eames choked on his breath, his eyes flying open to regard Arthur. The man didn't look terribly angry, or even sad. If anything, _Arthur_ was the one who looked nervous. "And I lied too," Arthur continued. "I had motivations beyond wanting to spend more time with the sexy man asking to share my table."

"You thought I was sexy?" Eames blurted out, feeling a tingling sensation seep into his chest.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and smirked lightly, seeming to relax slightly. "That's all you got from that sentence?"

Eames blushed, feeling foolish. But then Arthur was right there, standing in Eames's personal space... _right there_... Eames raised a hand and skimmed his fingers up Arthur's arm, dazed. He noted with a rush of heat that Arthur shivered just from the near-innocent touch. And then lips were on Eames's own. Arthur's mouth was wet and hot and _god_ it felt so good. Eames tilted his head and kissed back, canting his body forward to mould his form to Arthur's own. He gripped Arthur's shoulders strongly, half to keep him close and also to make sure Eames's legs didn't collapse beneath him. Arthur's hands were cupping Eames's face, pulling him forever closer, and Eames moaned.

He could feel Arthur smiling against his lips, which made Eames smile too. But then Arthur was pulling away, their lips separating. Eames clutched Arthur close, keeping the lithe man pinned to Eames's chest. Arthur didn't look like he wanted to move further away, his lips swollen and his cheeks flushed, but Eames could tell that Arthur's gaze had grown serious again. He realized that they still had some important things to talk about, especially with Eames's employer threatening to send other people. Reluctantly, Eames loosened his grip. He was placated by the fact that Arthur only took one distancing step away from him.

Eames was finding it a little difficult to breathe, or to think. He could still feel the weight of Arthur's lips against him, and the fading warmth of the other man's body. But he forced himself to focus, because this needed to be said before they could do anything else. "Believe me, darling," Eames began, voice still a little breathy, "I did not reject your offer due to a lack of interest." Eames could feel Arthur's gaze on him as Arthur considered the flush of his body. Arthur nodded, looking a little smug. "I came here thinking of you as a target. And then I got to know you." Eames suddenly dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling embarrassed. "And I realized that we would both be better off if we didn't form any further attachments."

"Were you going to leave?" Arthur questioned, no doubt having taken note of the half-packed room but allowing Eames another chance to be honest.

Eames closed his eyes and nodded. "Until you knocked on that door, there was nothing left for me here. I wasn't expecting you to be so..." Eames licked his lips, tasting Arthur and momentarily losing his focus again. "Understanding." There was a long silence between them as they imagined what would happened – what _wouldn't_ have happened – if Arthur hadn't come to the hotel. "I was going to check out and disappear so my employer wouldn't be able to find me. Then I was going to find a way to warn you before he sent anyone else after you."

Saying it aloud made it sound childish to Eames, and he blushed again. Arthur's hand on his shoulder felt comforting when Arthur stepped back into his personal space, and Eames gave a tired sigh. "Thank you," Arthur whispered. Eames looked up at him in surprise, and Arthur smiled softly. "For not using me and betraying me. And for actually trying to protect me. I may not have deserved it but I appreciate it anyway."

"You mentioned having other motivations..." Eames prompted curiously. He should be stepping further away from Arthur when discussing this, both of them admitting to insincerity. Instead, Eames shyly looped an arm around Arthur's waist, holding him close. Eames knew he was not acting professionally, wasn't thinking intelligently. But Arthur could say just about anything and Eames was pretty sure he was still going to end up kissing those lips again before the night was through.

Arthur nodded and held Eames's gaze, looking apologetic but not shy. "I'm sure you know my past with the military." Eames nodded. "One of my tasks was to keep intelligence on the Circus, an elite British intelligence group. So of course, you eventually popped up on my radar." Eames tensed in shock; Arthur had known about Eames for years. If that was the case, then how much _did_ Arthur know? This time Eames did not feel soothed when Arthur brushed his hand up and down Eames's arm. "You intrigued me, but then you went to Russia and effectively disappeared. Then you showed up briefly in England again, and then you were gone without a trace."

"And then?" Eames prompted when Arthur did not continue his story.

"It took me a year to track you down again. I had left the military by this point and was working independently. I'm not honestly sure why I felt compelled to find you again," Arthur said with a shrug. "But when I did, that was when I knew I wanted to bring you into my work. You were a changed man; more hesitant but wiser, and just as skilled as ever. You knew how to watch and read people, win them over and yet you kept yourself distant. But I knew I would need to figure out what had happened to you in Russia that had impacted you so significantly if I was ever going to get you to work with me; so I came to Moscow and waited."

"Waited?" Eames gaped. His arm was still around Arthur's smaller frame, but his grip had loosened. "What made you think I'd ever come back to Russia?" Eames certainly had had no intentions of returning until he had been forced.

This time it was Arthur who looked away, and those brown eyes truly looked troubled. "Because I know who your employer is. He was my superior in the military, and I didn't like his plans for what I was researching. Let's just say a lot of people would be hurt if things went his way." Arthur shook his head as though trying to expel some unfavourable memories. Then his attention returned to Eames and he shrugged. "So I ran. The research was too sensitive to have on file, so when I left, all the information went with me. Now he seems to be hunting and baiting me all at once."

Arthur looked frustrated and sad, and Eames felt inclined to tighten his grip again, pulling Arthur against him. "Baiting you," Eames repeated.

"I guess he noticed the way I looked at the surveillance photographs of you," Arthur admitted, ducking his head to hide the blush Eames could see on high cheekbones.

Eames knew there was still a lot to discuss. What did Arthur do for work, and why was he trying to bring Eames in on the job? What was Eames going to do to get rid of his employer, who must have information on Eames from when Arthur was researching him all those years ago? What would happen tomorrow morning? Would Eames check out of the hotel and disappear? Would Arthur come with him? Eames had a million questions and none of them had an obvious answer. But in that moment, the only thing Eames was focused on was Arthur. He used his free hand to touch under Arthur's chin, leading the man to raise his head. And then he caught those lips with his own, shy but ready.

Arthur seemed ready too, judging by the way Arthur immediately twined both arms around Eames's shoulders and pressed into the kiss, deepening it quickly and causing them both to groan. Eames slid both hands around Arthur's waist and pulled him forward, their hips slotting together. Arthur gasped into Eames's mouth and Eames snuck his hands beneath the fabric of Arthur's shirt, digging in his nails lightly. This got a vocal whine from Arthur's lips as they parted for breath and, encouraged, Eames scraped his nails up Arthur's back before sliding them back down to hook in the waistband of Arthur's pants.

Following suit, Arthur tangled his fingers in Eames's hair, tugging lightly at the short hairs at the nape of his neck until Eames tilted his head backwards. Immediately Arthur leaned forward and sealed his lips over Eames's pulse along the length of his neck. Eames's eyes fluttered closed as he tilted his head to give Arthur better access, while also digging his nails in deeper. This led Arthur to nip at Eames's skin, and Eames knew that both of them would have marked skin before dawn, but that thought just made him whisper, "_Arthur_."

Arthur kissed the wound on Eames's neck, brushing his tongue along the skin soothingly. And then he paused and stared up at Eames, his fingers still in Eames's hair. Eventually Eames gained enough awareness to realize that Arthur had stopped, and glanced down to blink at Arthur in a daze, wondering what was wrong. Arthur, rather crassly, answered the silent question. "Are you a virgin or something?"

Eames spluttered, blushed and then let his hands slide away from Arthur's warm, welcoming body. "I-! No! I just-!" Eames floundered, trying to think of the right words to say. Had he done something wrong? He thought Arthur had been enjoying himself... Should Eames just brush this aside? Would Arthur still want to be with Eames if he knew...?

Arthur's lips brushed along Eames's jaw. Slowly, softly. Eames felt his thoughts calming, his worries melting away. "It's okay. Tell me."

"I..." Eames began and then paused, turning his head to catch Arthur's lips before they retreated. Their bodies were burning but their kiss was calm, unhurried. And then Eames pulled away just enough that he was speaking against Arthur's lips. "I've never been with a man before."

He remained frozen in place, his lips barely against Arthur's. He could still feel Arthur's fingers in his hair, his nails against Eames's skin, his breath ghosting over Eames's cheeks. Would Arthur turn and leave? Would he laugh? Eames tensed when he felt Arthur tilt his face away slightly, but then he heard Arthur whisper in his ear. "Do you want me?"

Eames turned his head to brush his cheek along Arthur's before resting his forehead on Arthur's shoulder. "God yes."

Eames felt Arthur release one hand from Eames's hair. The soft hand slid down his neck, over his shoulder, and down his arm, nails scraping teasingly against skin and fabric. Then Arthur's fingers were lacing with Eames's own and leading his hand upward again. Eames followed Arthur's lead until his hand was pressed against Arthur's chest. He pressed his palm down slightly, Arthur's palm resting overtop. Eames could feel the man's chest rising and falling with quick breaths, and he could feel Arthur's beating heart, which was nearly flying with the current situation. Eames plucked at one button and the collar of Arthur's shirt widened, revealing more skin.

He paused when Arthur spoke again. "We can go as slow as you want," Arthur said. "But you have to promise me one thing."

Three of his fingers were brushing Arthur's bare chest between the shirt's fabric, while the other two rested against the next button down the shirt. Eames waited until Arthur met his eyes, and then he promised. "Anything."

Arthur helped Eames with the second button and then led his hand down to the third. "Don't imagine anyone else when you're with me."

The third button slid free, the shirt opened wider. Eames nodded. Their lips met. And then heat struck them. When they were finished, Eames herded Arthur to the large bed. He grabbed two pairs of sweatpants and slipped one pair on while handing the other pair to Arthur. Eames was very pleased to note that Arthur wasn't at all shy about his body. In fact, Eames was pretty sure Arthur was moving and stretching slower than necessary to get the pants on, showing his body off for Eames to appreciate. And god did he appreciate it. His eyes never stopped moving. Even when Arthur had the pants on and lay down on the bed, Eames thought he was gorgeous. The pants rode low on Arthur's narrow hips, tempting Eames, and his bare chest and back captured Eames's attention for a while.

At some point Arthur caught Eames's wandering hand and pinned it to the mattress with his own. Eames raised his eyes from Arthur's body to study those telling brown eyes. Arthur looked content and tired, but still conscious. Arthur's eyes were sharp with intelligence and awareness, and he licked his lips in indecision. And then... "Have you ever heard of dream work?"

Eames shook his head. Then he listened intently as Arthur explained what it was. Not everything, of course; Eames could tell just from what he was hearing that it would take some long explanations and practical experience for him to truly grasp the concepts Arthur was presenting. Eames was honestly a little baffled. He didn't know technology like that even existed. And the thought of what could potentially be accomplished when that technology was used by skilled individuals... It was dangerous in how tempting the thought was. Especially when Arthur described the role he thought Eames would be able to play.

Eames would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued.

When Arthur was done speaking, he had a smirk quirking his lips. He knew he had caught Eames's interest. Without a word, Arthur leaned forward to press their lips together. Eames returned the kiss slowly, beginning to feel the emotions of the day wearing on him. Arthur seemed to realize this because he pulled away after a minute and focused on curling up under the sheets. If it had been anyone else, Eames would have called them pretentious for making themselves so welcome. But he wouldn't want Arthur anywhere else, so Eames just smiled and moved under the sheets himself.

They watched each other for long minutes. Eames was expecting Arthur to ask Eames about his past in return for the information he had given up. Arthur was a spy, or an intelligence man. Whatever you wanted to call it, they were the same. Information was gold and every interaction was a give and take. The simple fact that Arthur _wasn't_ pushing Eames to share information in return, had told Eames because he wanted him to know and because he trusted him... that floored Eames. And it made Eames want to prove his trust in return.

He cleared his throat, feeling it tighten slightly at the thought of sharing this. Smiley and, to a lesser extent, Peter from Circus knew about Irina. But no one else. Because Eames couldn't bear to relive the memories, let alone share them with anyone else. But he wanted to tell Arthur, because Arthur was the first person to help lift the heavy weight of Irina's death from Eames's shoulders, supporting him. He trusted Arthur and wanted this, wanted more. So he forced his lips to part. "Do you still want to hear about my first time in Russia?" He asked quietly, wondering for a moment if Arthur had fallen asleep.

Arthur's eyes fluttered open and he regarded Eames in clear surprise. "If you're ready," Arthur said politely, though Eames could read the curiosity in his face.

"It's not a cheerful bedtime story," Eames warned.

"That's okay," Arthur whispered, still watching Eames from the mound of blankets and pillows. There was a reassuring smile on his face.

So Eames told him about Irina. About the initial job, and then Eames's decision to pursue a new target. He rushed through his explanation of his initial wooing of Irina, worried Arthur would recognize too many similarities. Arthur's eyebrows were furrowed, but he didn't interrupt. Eames continued on and admitted that he began to care for her, before going into his accidental betrayal and Irina's eventual disappearance and death.

Eames was proud of himself for not crying. But his face must have looked pretty stricken because when Eames was finally finished with the story, Arthur shuffled forward to curl his body around Eames's. Eames was lying on his back by this point, and Arthur's arms wound around his middle, his head resting on Eames's chest. Eames liked how comforting it was watching Arthur's head of hair rising and falling with Eames's slow breathing. "You need to learn from your mistakes and move on, Eames. You can only acquire redemption if you allow yourself."

Arthur fell asleep shortly thereafter, still curled up around Eames as he slept. It took Eames a longer time to fall asleep, Arthur's words echoing in his mind and spurring a lot of questions. But when Eames finally flicked off the bedside light and flung an arm over Arthur's back to keep him close, sleep came easily. Eames's dreams were peaceful.

#

Waking up was a pleasant affair. Eames felt calm and well rested, and having Arthur curled up around him kept him wonderfully warm. When Eames kissed the top of Arthur's head, lips brushing soft black hair, Arthur gave a contented hum in his sleep and shifted closer. Eames couldn't keep his affectionate smile down. He knew Arthur could be a dangerous man, if it was necessary; you didn't spend years collecting and containing classified information for the military and not learn a thing or two about self defence and methods of acquiring what you needed to know. But right now, as Eames ran lazy fingers through Arthur's hair, he reminded Eames of an affectionate kitten.

Eames would have stayed there forever if he could. But he had to wiggle himself out of Arthur's grasp and out of the bed, padding quietly to the bathroom to relieve himself. It was still relatively early in the morning, and Eames was strongly considering crawling back into bed with Arthur. Instead, he paused in thought and sat at the foot of the bed, thinking and watching Arthur sleep. A man so deadly, and yet so trusting of Eames. Eames still wasn't sure what he had done to deserve that trust, but he was going to do everything he could to not let Arthur down the way he had betrayed Irina.

This brought back memories of his employer's most recent communications, and Eames stepped away from the bed again. He pulled on some half-decent clothes, wrote Arthur a short note on the hotel pad of paper, and grabbed his key. Arthur didn't look like he was going to be stirring anytime soon, but even if he did, Eames felt like he'd understand Eames wanting a bit of fresh air to think. So Eames slipped on his shoes and headed for the elevator, attention primarily wrapped up in his thoughts.

He didn't wander far, feeling tethered in a pleasing way to Arthur, happily asleep in Eames's bed. Eames found an empty bench warmed by the morning sunlight on the far side of the courtyard from his hotel and sat, one foot tapping the ground incessantly as he thought. So much of this month had been a mirror image of his time with Irina, all that time ago. Eames should feel bad, for using his charm to woo his target, and for falling for his target in return, making it more difficult for both of them to part ways when it would still be safe to do so.

He was greedy for wanting more, wanting everything. He was a terrible person for still wondering if using Arthur's secret would win Eames his freedom. It was a spy's natural instinct, to weigh the value of a secret. But just because it was his nature didn't mean it excused Eames for thinking such thoughts. He shook his head violently, hating himself again as he thought of Irina, and thought of Arthur in the same situation. All because of Eames.

Eames told himself this wasn't true though, that it would be different this time. His experience with Arthur might be similar to his time with Irina, but this was where it would change. He would guard Arthur's secret with his life. No one would drag it from him, even at the price of his own freedom. Eames would disappear and join Arthur's work. He would start a new life, Arthur close by his side, and his employer would never find him – _them_. He and Arthur would find a new ending this time around. There would be no crying, no blood, no death.

This was where Eames drew the line.

Despite his mental assurances, a poisonous thread of dread began to coil deep in Eames's chest. Any other time Eames might have ignored this, assuming it was because of his previous thoughts. But Eames was standing on his feet in a flash, and across the large expanse of the open courtyard just as quickly. Because he knew this feeling, like barbed wire dipped in acid before being dropped in his stomach and winding around his heart. It was the feeling that had wound around him before he found the slashed messenger man in Russia, when he realized that he, and subsequently Irina, had been betrayed.

All those years ago Eames had run to a phone, trying to talk to Irina, trying to warn her. But it had been too late, and by the time he got back to the hotel, he had already failed her. Eames wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Eames's heart was racing, his lungs burning as he bolted across the hotel lobby floor and began running for the stairs. There was no time for elevators. Each step, each breath brought back memories from years ago. If he had just been strong enough to send Arthur away. If he had thought far enough ahead to realize that his employer might send someone to Eames's hotel room if results didn't show up. If he had stayed with Arthur, close to his gun...

He could have stood in front of Arthur, like a vengeful angel from hell. Gun in hand, barrel precise, finger welcoming the burden of more dead bodies. They would be worth it, because it was Arthur he would be protecting. Arthur, sleeping peacefully until there was a loud knocking at the door, if his employer's goons had even kept up that much of a front before breaking the door down. Near naked and unarmed, trusting in Eames to watch over him. But Eames wasn't there.

Eames nearly fell into the hallway when he reached his floor, breathing hard. His heart stopped when he saw the broken wood of his door down the hall, broken and splintered. He didn't even have his gun on him, but he was running anyway. He didn't need a gun. He was angry enough, scared enough, to tackle the men without a weapon. As long as it meant they wouldn't get Arthur.

He was moving too quickly to slow down when he reached his door, but Eames barely noticed the sharp pain of his shoulder hitting the doorframe. His mind was taking in only useful information, which told him to use the doorframe to launch himself into the room with another burst of speed. He did so, everything in slow motion even though his heart was flying. But then he tripped, body bracing so that the wind wouldn't be knocked from his chest as he hit the ground.

When he scrambled to his feet and looked behind him, his mind went blank.

Two men Eames had never seen before were crumpled on the carpet, their crimson blood staining the carpet beyond repair. There was one bullet hole in the head of each man, the aim chillingly accurate. Eames would have thrown up if he hadn't seen – hadn't _done_ – worse in his past. Instead he pulled himself up onto shaky feet, rubbing the blood from his hands onto his pants. Then he took in the rest of the room and saw Arthur.

It was then that Eames realized that Arthur wasn't someone who needed protecting. Arthur wasn't the person Eames would need to be careful around, making sure he didn't say the wrong thing to scare him off or divulge an important secret. Because Arthur was the same as Eames, just the same. And Arthur could be trusted. Eames would not need to circle around Arthur, watching his back, assessing potential threats and dealing with them if they approached. Because Arthur would be watching Eames's back too, and there was no doubt now in Eames's mind that Arthur could handle himself perfectly fine.

Arthur was standing near the balcony sliding door, standing tall and strong like a man who could stare down the world and smirk. Kneeling in front of him was a third goon sent by Eames's employer and Arthur's former military supervisor. The man was sobbing, begging for forgiveness, for mercy. Arthur wasn't focused on Eames, but Eames could see a flash in those dark eyes. There would be no mercy that day. Arthur was gripping the goon's collar, nearly choking him as he pulled against it. Eames's gun was pressed against his forehead. Arthur looked enraged.

"Give me a name," Arthur whispered. "Tell me where I can find him." The shiver that ran down Eames's spine was in response to a primal fear invoked by Arthur's fury.

The goon sobbed and whispered a name. Even threw in an address. Arthur looked satisfied. And then he pulled the trigger.

Eames flinched at the noise but not the sight of the third goon falling dead to the ground. Eames had seen and made his fair share of dead bodies. He understood Arthur. Emotionally, Arthur felt threatened and protective, and wanted to lay that threat to rest. Intelligently, it would be one less individual with a hatred for them, one less person to hide their trail from after all this was over. The noise would have attracted attention and authorities would be arriving any minute. Eames was worried, but not terribly so. He knew the security footage would place Arthur in the position of victim, requiring self defence.

He watched, time returning to normal, as Arthur dropped the gun to the ground. He watched as Arthur looked at his hands before wiping them clean on his pants. He watched as Arthur glanced up at him and held his gaze, wondering what Eames's reaction would be. Eames himself was considering how to proceed; would Arthur have made the assumption that Eames had contacted his employer, betrayed him?

Eames took hesitant steps forward until he was standing in front of Arthur, sidestepping the bloody corpse at their feet. "What now?" Eames questioned, trying to read Arthur's thoughts, trying to convey his own promise that this had never been his intention.

"Well..." Arthur's eyes flickered back and forth between Eames's, reading him in return. He seemed to find what he was looking for, because Arthur's body finally relaxed. "First we deal with the authorities who are no doubt on their way. Then we get your money for the hotel room back after this horrendous service." Eames raised an eyebrow and tried not to laugh; laughing over three dead bodies didn't really look good in the eyes of normal people. "Then we hunt down our shared enemy with the information those men so kindly shared," Arthur's eyes flashed quickly to the dead men before returning to Eames. "And then we get new identities, disappear, and become the most skilled pair of dream workers the world has ever seen." Arthur paused, took a breath. Smiled nervously. "Maybe even find some redemption along the way?"

Eames wiped the blood off Arthur's cheek before backing the man up against the glass door leading to the balcony. Their lips met in heated desperation, adrenaline from their recent near-death experience making their blood sing. They kissed and licked and moaned for the twenty seconds they had before sirens could be heard below in the courtyard, and the sound of hurried feet filled the hallway. Despite wanting to kiss forever, to feel their bodies pressed together again to reassure themselves that they were both safe and alive, Arthur and Eames pulled apart. Kissing over dead bodies looked even worse than laughing over them.

But before their room was swarmed with hotel staff and the police, Eames met Arthur's eyes and smiled. Recognizing the truth in his words even before he voiced them. "_You_ are my redemption, Arthur."

Arthur smiled, pleased with Eames's declaration. Pleased that Eames had realized what changing and saving Arthur, letting the past go and facing the future, meant. It was time for Eames to say his farewells to Irina, take Arthur's hand, and begin a life anew with Arthur by his side.


End file.
